An Audience
by ReluctantlyFangirled
Summary: John is out of town and Sherlock is in need of an assistant. Who better to fill the spot than ever-faithful Molly?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello. Nice to meet you. This is a first attempt Sherlolly to be developed. It is my first time writing such things so please feel free to review! **

Molly had just finished cleaning up after the autopsy when she paused to take a break. It was near 3 am and she still had a long list of reports to write. She glanced down at the case file.

**BOMB EXPLOSION – 15 DEAD**

Of course, what it didn't say was that all of the 15 bodies found, none had died from the actual blast. So far she had 3 heart failures, 2 asphyxiations, and 2 head trauma from a blunt instrument. Leaving 8 bodies left to cut open, and an even longer work day ahead of her.

She didn't mind these long work days. In fact, she rather enjoyed them. When she was piled on with work, it didn't leave any spare moment for her to dwell on anything else. On him. No. She was a scientist and when she worked she worked with all of her mind and concentration. It was almost freeing to be so exhausted by the end of the day, or, in this case, the lack of an end of the day.

But now she had a free moment to think. Think of her crush and how foolish and hopeless it was. Still, she could see him in her mind. He was all angles and sharp edges, both in features and personality. _Sherlock Holmes, t_he man who could deduce your life from the palm of your hand and see everyone and everything.

_Except himself,_ She thought, then quickly quieted her inner narrative. She had to stop this fascination with him before it hurt her even more than it already had.

As if on cue, the very object of her fantasies barged in the lab at that exact moment. He hit the door with such force that it banged the wall behind it as he frustratedly took off his scarf and coat.

"These fools," He muttered in his baritone voice that sent thrills through her. "They wait _this _long to bring me in. I could have had this case solved if they weren't such overconfident idiots."

He only then seemed to recognize Molly, only she knew he had taken in the whole room and her within a second of entering. He never missed anything. "I will need a cup of coffee, Molly. Black, two sugars, and those case files you have completed." He sat down in his usual char by the microscope with an open and expectant hand.

Molly handed him the ones she had finished while she glanced at the door, waiting for Dr. John Watson to follow Sherlock in. They hadn't been seen apart in so long that whole building was whispering about just how deep their friendship went. Molly wished she could disarm these rumors, but, then again, she didn't know if she was deluding herself.

Still John didn't come in. "Where is John?" she asked, risking interrupting Sherlock's musings.

"At his sister's. Apparently, she's drinking again." He stated the fact emotionlessly.

"Oh dear, he said that she was doing better. We were all hop-"

"Molly." Sherlock interrupted. Annoyance clear in his voice. "Small talk is not your forte. You would be much better help finishing those autopsies."

"Right." Molly said quietly to herself.

They lapsed into a comfortable and professional silence. Each doing their own work and Sherlock occasionally demanding something that Molly had to get for him. Molly was reminded of what it used to be like before John came. Sherlock would spend hours, even days in the lab with her. Experimenting on cadavers or solving some case that he never bothered to explain to her. But there was always a sadness, isolated look in him. John seemed to be helping Sherlock become more…human.

However beneficial to work, the silence did bring an embarrassment for Molly when her stomach would emit the sort of low, loud, unlady-like growl of hunger. After the third rumble Shelock looked up at her.

"You haven't eaten," he paused for a second, thinking. "Lunch, yesterday."

Molly didn't bother confirming his statement. He knew he was right. Instead she waited for whatever came next. He looked at her in silence. Then with a confused look, went back to his files. Awkward and a little worried, Molly faced the man on the metal table again. Once again, her stomach complained loudly.

"If you can not remain silent, you will have to go eat something." Came the directions from Sherlock across the room.

"I…I'm sorry," Molly mumbled followed by yet another growl.

Sherlock sighed. "If you are not going to silence your stomach then I will. Get your coat, we are going out."


	2. Dinner

**Author's Note: Thank you for your reviews! They are the best part of my day. This chapter is a bit long because I tried to add an actual plot line..next time..more fluff. I promise. I also wrote this at 1 am so if it is a little hard to follow, let me know! Reviews make the story happen!**

He didn't take her to Angelo's like she had expected. It rather surprised her, due to the fact that John only mentioned eating at Angelo's or ordering in for the two of them. She didn't know he ate anything else. Instead, he opened the door to the cab for her, an unexpected nicety that Molly tried not to read into too much, and rattled off some destination she didn't quite catch. They were driving down the road before Molly was able to fully understand the complete oddity that was occurring. Sherlock never offered to take her to dinner, even if he was just to trying to quiet her.

Now she was sitting next to him, in a cab, in the dark. The street lamps cast glancing shadows across his face as he stared out the window, showing off his sharp cheekbones.

"You would do better not to stare at me so obviously, " Sherlock grumbled, still staring out the window.

Molly's cheeks flushed, she didn't even notice that she had been staring. She silently berated herself, "S..Sorry," she stuttered, studying her hands with new fascination, "it's just...you've never..I mean.."

"I've never offered to take you out," He finished for her, "Well, I've never had an absent assistant, and you've never forgotten to eat for over 24 hours." He turned his steely eyes on her, making her freeze under their gaze. They sat still for a moment, both looking at each other. Then Sherlock did something unexpected. He reached a hand up and gently took Molly's chin, stroking a thumb underneath her cheekbone. "You are losing too much weight," He paused, looking at her, "You need to take better care of yourself, Molly." He murmured, his voice lowering, before looking away and dropping his hand.

Molly spent the rest of the short ride looking out her own window and trying her best not to touch the spot on her face where Sherlock had. The cab stopped in front of a sleepy little dinner. Without a word, Sherlock stepped out of the cab, leaving Molly to follow behind. They had stopped in front of a small dinner. It was cozy and warm, nearly all of the customers had the bleary-eyed look of those who had too long a night, or too early a morning.

He settled in a small table near the window with Molly opposite him. Soon after seating, a waiter came to the table with a large plate of breakfast food, far too much for her to eat. She noticed that Sherlock must have ordered for her. She also noticed that Sherlock did not order anything other than a hot, "piping hot" coffee.

The aroma of the food was near overpowering to Molly's depraved senses, and it was all she could do not to fall upon the platter like a staving beast. Sherlock didn't seem to notice, he was studying the scene outside the window with concentration. He didn't offer any conversation, and when Molly had sated herself enough she noticed his slight frown.

"What are you looking for?" She asked.

"James Behelm." He stated, tapping his fingers on the table top. "Victim number 4. Died of a heart attack, was said to frequent this dinner before going to work."

Molly nodded. This was why he offered to take her out, it was for the case. It didn't have anything to do with her. She felt a small sense of disappointment, but covered it up with another bite of eggs. Discovering that this was one bite too many, she sat up and pushed the plate , Sherlock's attention tuned in on her. He glanced at the plate before looking up at her.

"You didn't eat very much." He noted.

The effects of her 30+ hour day were starting to catch up with Molly, now that her stomach pains were no longer keeping the exhaustion at bay. The heaviness of her head eased her fears of being around the tall, dark, and handsome man before her. "What I really need is a drink," she muttered.

Sherlock seemed surprised at her honesty, a small smile turned up the corner of his lips before disappearing just as quickly. He turned back to the street. "We need to interview someone here. Someone who knew James Behelm, to see if there was any connection with him and the other victims."

"Why James Behelm? Why not any of the other victims?" She asked.

This seemed to be the opening Sherlock was looking for. "The victims were alike. All had recent deaths, however non of them were from the bomb blast, as you know. 14 of the 15 victims were alike. They had normal street clothes, however their nails were dirty, uncut. Low hygiene. Many had bruising around their hips, shoulders, and ankles. Signs of long nights on hard surfaces. Thin, dirty, hard surfaces. They were all homeless. Except one. He was in a business suit. Not too expensive but much more than the others could afford. Maybe he was taking a ride with the others, only he had a gold watch. A birthday present from his son, still new. He would not ride with desperate people if he had a choice. He doesn't belong."

Molly tried to keep up with the speed of Sherlock's words, but only just caught them all. "Alright," She muttered, getting up from her chair.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, confusion written on his face.

"To ask about James Behelm."

Ten minutes later, Molly sat back in her seat again.

"He usually sits in the corner booth over there," she pointed, "has toast and coffee every morning, except the day of the accident. He complained that he didn't have time for food because he had to meet with the company lawyer about a malpractice case in the hospital he worked at." She finished.

Through this Sherlock remained silent. He looked intently at Molly, seemingly seeing her for the first time. Then a small smile escaped onto his lips. Molly smiled as well, though she covered it by looking down.

Quickly, Sherlock got up. "Come on, Molly. Let's get you that drink."


End file.
